


Sun and Moon

by marlowewilde



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, fight, make-up fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowewilde/pseuds/marlowewilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what they were arguing about had been lost far back in the conversation, not that it mattered to begin with. For this is what they were. They fought as fiercely as they loved. Sun and moon; one burning with a ferocious intensity, the other cool and pensive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun and Moon

They were arguing again. Their noise overpowered the fuzzy radio as profanities filled the small space between them. Their insults became more and more cutting as their voices grew louder.

Exactly what they were arguing about had been lost far back in the conversation, not that it mattered to begin with. For this is what they were. They fought as fiercely as they loved. Sun and moon; one burning with a ferocious intensity, the other cool and pensive. Apollo, with his scorching passion, blazing ambition and blinding beauty, capable of sparking the flame of revolution in all he encountered.

All but one- his antithesis, his Dionysus, who managed to remain dark and partially hidden in shadow. His cynicism setting him apart from all the stars in the night sky who had been set ablaze by that fiery sun God. But that is why they loved one another- their differences. One drawn in like the planets, hungry to feel the burning magnitude of the sun. The other yearning for the cool incandescent beauty of the moon, fascinated by its craters and imperfections. And when they met, they became lost in this embrace, this eclipse, darkening the sky as if no one else existed.

Enjolras and Grantaire continued to spit poisonous words at one another the whole way down the motorway, off the junction and into their neighbourhood. Then he said it. The words Enjolras promised he would never utter sprang from his lips with such velocity they struck Grantaire sharply across the cheek.

“No wonder your father hates you.”

Shock made Grantaire recoil and he found himself leaning on the door, as far away from Enjolras as the car would allow. That had hurt. Even through the merciful numb of his intoxication Grantaire could feel his chest constricting as tears began to sting at his eyes. It was not the words themselves that hurt but more the fact that he said it, out loud. Grantaire hated Enjolras for making his thoughts exist in the world. His speaking them had made them a living breathing idea. A third person sitting in the car.

It felt like that brisk slap to the baby's bottom in the delivery room- a split second of shocked silence followed by the overwhelming urge to cry inconsolably.However, Grantaire was no longer a baby. He had grown and had time to develop a stubborn streak. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on the static of the radio.

Enjolras knew he had hurt him. The only sound in the car was the indecipherable radio signal and the whirr of thoughts tangling in Grantaire's mind. Enjolras felt satisfied. He felt pleasure and pride at finally silencing his loud mouthed wine cask boyfriend.

He knew this feeling would pass very quickly. He could feel regret beginning to manifest and so he tried to hold onto the satisfaction as long as possible.

Grantaire couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

 _Hate you_. “No wonder your father hates you” Not “No wonder he doesn't like you” or “No wonder he's disappointed in you” but _hate_? _Did_ he hate him? Had Grantaire lost him forever when he'd stormed out that night last week? He had wanted Grantaire to live the life he had chosen for him: college, a career in law or medicine, marriage, death- that is what he saw. No excitement, no passion, no love. Grantaire had screamed and vowed he would never see him again but he didn’t mean it. Did Enjolras really think he'd lost him forever? Did he think Grantaire deserved to be hated? Did he hate him? Was it true? _Hate_. “No wonder your father _hates_ you.”

Grantaire hated Enjolras for making him doubt himself. He felt as if Enjolras was mocking him for choosing him. Grantaire had always been slightly unpredictable.

“The inconstant moon that monthly changes in his circled orb” (Enjolras has chosen that quote for him.) Grantaire had learned to ignore his potentially dangerous impulses to please Enjolras. Tonight however, Grantaire didn’t really feel like pleasing Enjolras.

As they pulled up at the traffic light Grantaire tried to fold himself out of the car quickly but, still a little drunk, stumbled and had to grab the seatbelt to regain his balance. He was sure to slam the door though. He walked, well, teetered along the road as Enjolras expertly U-turned to drive alongside him. Grantaire screamed at him to go away and took sadistic pleasure in watching Enjolras tail him. Grantaire prayed Enjolras' fiery temper coupled with this distraction would make him crash. Enjolras deserved to like like a fool. Grantaire had to hide his devilish smirk.

Enjolras had lowered the passenger window to plead with Grantaire but pleading quickly turned to infuriated commands. Grantaire stopped and opened the car door but only to scream some more.

“No! I don’t care if you’re sorry and I don’t care why you said it. You still said it. Whether you meant it or you just said it to make me hurt, I don’t really know which is worse so...” Grantaire went to walk away but then leaned into the car a little closer and began to vent. “E, you know that I’ve been thinking about that all week and I'm terrified it's true. It's fine if I’m thinking it but to hear it out loud? From you? God, you know I fucking worship you, how could you even... No, I don’t want to talk to you. Go on, fuck off.”

Grantaire kept walking and let Enjolras follow, no longer taking pleasure in the sight of him grovelling. He hadn't any idea where he was walking to. He had no money, no phone and no jacket. He twisted his arms around himself and tried to silence his chattering teeth. Grantaire was freezing, and in the cold of the night, he finally allowed himself to cry. As he wiped at his eyes he thought about getting in the car. He always knew he would get back in the car, it was just a matter of when. He wasn’t ready yet but he knew he couldn’t wait too long either. It was a matter of which would give first- Enjolras' patience or Grantaire's blood circulation.

At the crossroads he saw the little red car turn left and pull up a few feet away from him. He moved to get in but for some reason, instead he crossed the road and continued down into a labyrinth of cul de sacs. After the lights changed, Grantaire prayed he would see the car drive towards him but it didn’t. He knew Enjolras had turned down onto the next main road he would pass to give Grantaire some time to breathe. He knew Enjolras was waiting for him there. He was too sensible to let Grantaire wander around alone (and drunk) in the dead of night. The trouble was, now Grantaire had to reach the road single-handedly. He'd felt streetwise and confident with the red car tailing him but now he was alone and a little bit lost.

Grantaire mistakenly went the long way round, accidentally choosing a maze of alleys instead of rounding the corner and simply crossing the park. He had never been this cold. He yearned for the liquid warmth of the whiskey he'd left at home. Grantaire silently promised never to leave the house without his jacket or his hip flask ever again. He rounded the penultimate corner and felt a wave of relief as he took in his familiar surroundings. But then doubt consumed him. What if Enjolras had gone home? What if he'd just had enough and left? As Grantaire became trapped in his thoughts he walked straight into the tall figure of a man in his path.

The boy was beautiful but, like Enjolras, his strong jaw and angular cheekbones counteracted his full pink lips and think eyelashes. His skin was flawless, milky white and he was covered with tattoos from his fingers right up to his long neck. His wore a wicked sneer and a cigarette was perched on the edge of his upturned lips. His eyes danced with menace and despite his beauty he was terrifying. Grantaire mumbled an apology and tried to breathe deeply which was impossible given how cold he was. The figure and his newly joined friends began to follow. As Grantaire began to pick up speed the boy flicked his cigarette away and began to walk faster. His smile widened as he closed in on his prey. They began to call out to Grantaire, mocking him, taunting him. He turned the corner and tried to block their cries from his ears as he silently prayed to see that little red car.

Grantaire exhaled as he saw him leaning against the dented bonnet, his arms folded across his statuesque frame. Grantaire ran the final few metres and let Enjolras strong arms envelop him. He kissed Grantaire on the forehead and began to apologise only to feel his anger mount as Grantaire's followers rounded the corner. Enjolras stood up straighter and let them take in his formidable form while fixing them with a murderous stare, his blue eyes growing dark with fury. He issued a low guttural sound not unlike a growl before pulling Grantaire closer to him protectively. Once they had disappeared he removed his jacket and draped it over Grantaire's shoulders before rubbing them vigorously to warm him up. Despite himself, Grantaire relished the feeling of Enjolras' touch. They got in the car and he turned the heater up full blast.

Grantaire wasn’t ready to talk yet. Instead he focused on the hazy Johnny Cash song playing on the radio and the sting of the blood returning to his hands. Enjolras pulled up outside the house and turned off the engine but neither moved to go inside. They sat in silence, neither knowing quite what to say. Enjolras was absently scratching at the back of his head. Grantaire bit his lip to hide a smile at the sight of Enjolras' nervous habit, he only did this when completely speechless.

Suddenly Grantaire was jealous of the hand tangled in his blonde curls and reached up to stroke at the nape of Enjolras' neck. Enjolras leaned into Grantaire's touch and closed his eyes before rolling his head to the side softly kissing Grantaire's wrist. Enjolras brought his hand up to meet Grantaire's and guided it to his lips. Grantaire smiled at the feel of Enjolras' tender kisses and capable hands.But Grantaire grew jealous once more and moved his hand up to Enjolras' angel face and pulled him into an intoxicating kiss.

Enjolras didn’t have to apologise. Grantaire could feel his apology in every touch, every look and every kiss. He knew he hadn’t meant it. They pulled away to catch their breath and there was silence in the little car. It was the calm after the storm- when everyone exhales and silently surveys the damage left in its wake. Eventually someone spoke and soon they were giggling and joking once more. A kind of closeness that can only exist after such a fight now existed in that car. They talked for hours and were content.

Grantaire loved him so much. He felt so safe with him and knew Enjolras would never let anyone hurt him. It amazed him how he felt instantly safe the moment he saw him. Anything could have happened on that road, something beyond Enjolras' control. Even though logic told him that Enjolras might not always be able to save him, Grantaire refused to believe it. After all, if there was one thing he believed in, Grantaire believed in Enjolras. Grantaire smiled dreamily as he leaned into Enjolras' shoulder.

Enjolras let his arm drape over Grantaire and tried to forget the horrifying images that he had dreamt up while Grantaire was missing. He tried not to think about how bad that night could have been and how lucky he was that Grantaire was safe. He too imagined a world where Grantaire was always protected by him, where he would always be safe inside the battlements of his arms. He tried to ignore the consuming doubt and blinked hard to clear his mind. He forced himself back to the present. He felt dizzy and nauseous as an inexplicable fear swept over him. Suddenly the delicacy of this moment occurred to him. It was so fragile, so fleeting and he realised he never wanted it to end. If only this moment wasn’t so mortal and could draw its last breath at any second. If only Grantaire could be this happy forever. Enjolras loved these moments when Grantaire was truly happy. It had to last. Grantaire had to remember this feeling, not anger or fear. Urgency overtook him and he needed to do something to celebrate this time, this instance, this happiness.

“Stay here.” he ordered. When Grantaire went to protest Enjolras silenced him by pressing a kiss to his open mouth before he sprang from the car and entered the house. Grantaire sat in confusion and waited for his return, feeling cold in the absence of his sun. Enjolras re-emerged from the house with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. An excited grin played about his mouth but his eyes were dark with purpose

. “What are you doing?” Grantaire demanded, totally bemused.

“A house warming gift I instantly hid for a special occasion.” Enjolras replied as he tore away the foil. Grantaire would have been more irritated by the existence of yet another hiding place if he hadn’t been so captivated by Enjolras' spontaneous gesture and his excited smile. Enjolras was never spontaneous. Ever.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Grantaire cried bewildered but wholly entertained. His exclamation earned him yet another forceful kiss. It didn’t really answer his question but he was fine with that.

“I love you. I love you so much and...” he trailed off as if his sentiments were too big to be confined by a mere twenty-six letters. “I hurt you tonight.”

“Enjolras” Grantaire sighed.

“No, let me finish.” Enjolras' brow set in resolve, determined to fathom his emotions into coherent a sentence.

“Oh thank God,” Grantaire feigned relief as he animatedly wiped his brow, “When you ran in here all spontaneous and giddy I thought I’d lost my bossy, domineering, hard-ass of a boyfriend forever but no! He lives! Phew.” Grantaire smiled wryly and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I love you. I love you and I hurt you. Your bossy, domineering arsehole of a boyfriend did something inexcusable and he wants to atone for his inexcusable behaviour by doing something special. Grantaire, something awful nearly happened tonight because of me. If they had hurt you and...” He closed his eyes in pain, “If I had been responsible for that I don’t know what I would have done.” He brought his hand up to graze Grantaire's stubbly cheek. “I don’t know what I would have done of anything happened to my lazy, cynical wine cask of a boyfriend.”

“ Nothing _did_ happen to him.”

“And so we're celebrating” Enjolras smiled. He popped the cork and it struck the front window, cracking it in the corner. Grantaire could sense Enjolras growing angry and so he tried to suppress his laughter but failed. Enjolras turned to him, his jaw set in anger but then he too began to laugh, elation filling the front seat. As Enjolras poured two glasses and they touched them together with a satisfying “clink” and as they sipped (well, one sipped. The other downed it in a few gulps.) they felt the bubbles dance on their tongue.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras, so happy with his idea. The same ominous guardian that had fended off Grantaire's followers was now calm and content. The sun that earlier that night had been scorching and terrible was now warm and comforting. Grantaire smiled at his walking contradiction.

Enjolras saw Grantaire smile and satisfaction trickled down his insides with the champagne. He had succeeded. Enjolras had almost forced his moon into the shadows, shrouding itself in darkness, only letting a silvery fraction of its light show. But he had prevented it, and now his moon was bright and whole and totally visible, trusting him with his imperfections.

Now when Grantaire remembered this night it would be for the right reasons. He would not remember their bitter fight, or his imminent danger with such vivid colour but would remember the dark night, the crack on the window and the golden liquid. This was his apology. This was Enjolras' promise never to hurt Grantaire like that again. This was his way of proving to the cynic that his Apollo would always find a way to make it better.

Enjolras renewed his promise as he refilled Grantaire's glass.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't noticed, I like space. The quote is from "Romeo and Juliet" (the balcony scene. corny and cliché, I know. Sorry) in which it has a totally different context but...whatever, I like it. I really hope you liked this. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my work. X


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